


Vegas Moon

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Amnesia, Eventual Smut, Half-Galra! Keith, M/M, Mentions of Thace, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Will add tags once they pop up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7977706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takashi Shirogane wakes up in a Las Vegas alley, a year’s worth of missing memories replaced with scars and a cybernetic arm so advanced it really shouldn’t exist. His search for answers leads him to Keith, a werewolf/human hybrid living in secret in a shoddy Vegas apartment. Together they must sift the city for Shiro’s missing memories, but the mystery may be bigger than they imagined. And hunting them down. </p><p>	Basically all you need to know is that the Galra are Big Purple Werewolves instead of aliens.</p><p>ON HIATUS. Please see notes inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Strip

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where to start with this. I was driving to class one day a couple weeks ago and though "What if the Galra were Big Purple Werewolves?" and now here I am writing 5k of exposition of what's going to be, by far, my biggest fanfiction project over probably almost ten years. I blame Voltron. 
> 
> This was so slow getting out because I've spent so much time outlining this whole big thing and making sure I have this first chapter how I want it. So, this is going to be three arcs. This first one is probably going to be the shortest at 6-8 chapters. It's going to focus mostly on Sheith and definitely a lot of Shiro working through the big and very sudden changes in his life. Not gonna tell you who the baddie this time around is yet (though you guys can probably guess who they are rather quickly) I have everything in his arc plotted out down the chapters. The other two arcs are also already done through a timeline and a fairly detailed "Things To Do" but I haven't broken them up into chapters. 
> 
> I'm so fucking excited to write this and I hope you guys are excited for the ride!
> 
> I finally finished my first chapter after much work so it's getting posted a bit early, but from now on new chapters will be posted on Wednesdays.
> 
> Note on the hiatus: So I've been desperately trying to get this up to snuff. I've got all but the last couple of chapters of this written out but the more work I put into this and the more I post the less satisfied I am with it and the more I see how much more work it needs. It all feels very contrary and not very compelling and too much like I'm winging the small details that really builds this kind of story up. I feel like I could do a lot better with this than what I am. And right now with all the things going on in my life personally (nothing earth shattering, just tiresome) I don't have the time to both keep up the weekly updates AND have it be satisfactory for me. It's not super fun posting something I'm less than happy with, and me stressing over this fic and getting it out on time is eating into the writing that i'm having more fun with (holy crap I have so many unfinished one-shots that I want to work on!). And when it comes to fandom and what I do for a hobby it makes no sense to sink more work into something that's becoming a chore. I'm still super interested in this fic, it just needs to be reworked and I need to not do that in public on a weekly deadline.
> 
> So here's my plans. I keep what there is of this up because well, it's already up and I don't hate it so much that I need to orphan it or take it down completely. I'll likely spend October revamping this entire thing and my Ultimate Goal is to come back and have the whole thing (all three parts I had planned, but which might change as I rework this bastard) as something I do for NaNoWriMo in November.
> 
> Also changed the rating as I'm not going to add more to this.

                Sunlight glints off shards of glass, shattering off into little rainbows. They’re fascinating. So many colors washing into each other, overlapping but never really blending. The asphalt is hot against his cheek and something digs insistently into his shoulder. It stinks of hot motor oil and stale water. The more he thinks about it, the less sense this all makes. He doesn’t really remember passing out in this alley, and he can’t think of why he would anyways.  

                Shiro turns his head and groans. His throat is dry and he thinks that if he were to breathe in too deeply he’d have a coughing fit. His head pounds. His entire body feels stiff and sore. His back hurts, his neck is stiff, his right arm aches _deep_ in the bone and it feels too heavy, too numb. It’s a lot to take in. He has to fight back the urge to just go back to sleep. He loses the immediate fight to sit up and tries to remember how he got here.

                The last thing he remembers clearly… Matt Holt sitting next to him at a poker table, his father, Sam, on Shiro’s other side. Cigarette smoke so thick he can see it. The cleavage of the dealer, a slip of blue bra he kept having to pull his eyes away from. Shiro had talked Matt into drinking rum but he wasn’t very far into his first drink yet. Matt promising he could hold his liquor and Shiro telling him he looked forward to see if that were true. They had been doing pretty good, Shiro thinks, he seems to remember a nice little stack of chips in front of him. He doesn’t remember if he kept those and something tells him he doesn’t have it now, at any rate.

                Shiro tips his head up, the asphalt scratching at his cheek and blinks towards the sound of passing cars. Okay, so he’s in an alley. Somewhere. He thinks of the poker table. They had gone to Las Vegas to celebrate something… To celebrate… pictures. That’s what it was. The Centauri VII probe made it to the Proxima Centauri system. Shiro remembers the photos it had sent back now, the bright red circle of the Earth-like planet, Proxima Centauri b, had touched him so strongly he had cried.

                He’s still pretty excited about it even now, his chest welling with something like pride. Maybe he can pull them up again once he gets back to the office. But the office… Where is he? Is he still in Vegas?

                Shiro lets out a slow breath and pushes himself upright. The shift leaves him feeling dizzy and staring at the ground with his head hanging between his knees until he can blink his vision back into focus. Tired, but at least he doesn’t’ feel sick. Maybe his hangover isn’t as bad as he thought. After a few seconds Shiro looks up and watches the end of the alley again. Few people walk back and forth past of the space between these two buildings but none of them look in. Turning his head up, he reads the color of the sky and the way shadows form around the roofs of the buildings. It’s probably late afternoon. Shiro laughs to himself. No wonder his hangover isn’t so bad. He’s slept most of it off. He plants his hands on either side of himself to push up. His right arm still hurts just above the elbow and below that, it feels numb. Shiro frowns and tries to shake the numbness off.

                What- What’s wrong with his arm? He’d looked at his hand expecting to see sleep lines but instead his hand is made of hard, hot metal. No wonder his upper arm hurts; that’s where the prosthetic is attached.

                “What the fuck?” Shiro breathes. His heart lurches in fear as he rolls up the sleeve of his shirt. It’s plaid flannel. Too hot for the day and definitely not what he was wearing when he was playing poker with the Holts. He shoves the sleeve up and the prosthetic forms a hard line between metal and flesh. His skin is covered in ugly scars all the way around.  When he turns his hand and examines the prosthetic, it whirrs so quietly he can hardly hear it. Most of it is metal plating, but the joints and the pads of his fingers are all made of a grippy rubber.

                So, the idea of a hangover is pretty much out of the question now. It takes time to not only lose an arm, but to have it replaced with a cybernetic prosthesis so detailed he had hardly noticed it. Shiro worries over how he lost his arm. It’s disturbing that he can’t remember how he lost his dominant hand and even more that he can’t remember where he got this replacement.

                Shiro turns his hand back and forth, examines his palm as he does some quick tests. He flexes and opens his hand, touches the tip of each finger to his thumb, slow at first and then again in quick procession. Prosthetics like this don’t exist. Sure, there’s been amazing leaps in technology over the past fifty years but nothing that would allow Shiro such fine motor control with so little thought. The thing is amazingly intuitive. Either that or, Shiro frets, he’s had time to learn how to use it.

                Speaking of, how much time is he missing? Shiro pulls his sleeve back down to his wrist to hide his arm and finally pushes up to his feet. Where are Matt and Sam? He hopes they’re alright and that they don’t have the same rude awakening he has had. Shiro stretches experimentally, and when he feels okay he goes further. He’s sore but his arm is by far the worst pain he’s feeling. So he doubts he has other wounds to worry about. He pats the pockets of his jeans. Again, not a pair of pants he recognizes, but he’s beyond questioning it too deeply. As he thought, his phone is gone as well.

                He has a few things he needs to figure out immediately before he can move on to the more pressing and complicated problems like what the hell’s happened to his arm and where his friends are. The date, where he is, and a means to contact someone he knows. With that in mind, he sets out into the street.

* * *

 

                Turns out, he’s still in Las Vegas. Even after hours of walking he’s still on the outskirts of town, but whenever he sees a break in the line of buildings, he can see the Stratosphere Tower. As time goes on the sky dims but the lights coming off the strip grow brighter and brighter. The effect is amazing; the darkness of apartment buildings on one side while the harsh golden glow of so many small lights push over the rooftop on the other side of the street.

                It’s a nice sight, despite the light pollution, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s out here alone with no money and no means of contact. Shiro sighs to himself, growing resigned to spending another night outside. Despite wandering around for so long he’s not come across a public phone. Not like he even had a card to use one anyways. The coin operated pay phones went the way to the dodo decades ago, but Shiro yearns for even that much. He can at least scrounge together a dollar in quarters if he looks around the sidewalks long enough. He’s tried to approach the odd person he comes across so far outside of the strip and so late at night but every time he’s tried they would back away from him with shielded, wary looks and it would be enough to make him shy away. He must look rougher than the thought.

                Shiro weighs the options of finding somewhere to hole up for the night and avoid trouble or to keep looking around for a police station. He’s hesitant about the latter. There’s so much he doesn’t remember that he can’t trust himself to not appear as simply riffraff. Who knows? Maybe he did something. Shiro feels another headache forming at the thought of having a warrant.

                Shiro comes to a stop in front of a worn and tired looking brick building. It smells… nice, though he isn’t sure in what way. It’s warm and delicate in a way that reminds him of a bright, dry day. It draws him into the open stairwell and, looking up, he sees that this is probably an apartment building. Shiro frowns. Sunset was a while ago so he doubts the residents would be thrilled to have him come knocking on their door. He’s a little scared to anyways, this isn’t the best part of town and he doesn’t want to cause tension where it isn’t needed.

                “Uh, hello?” Shiro flinches and looks over his shoulder. A slim man stands holding a couple plastic grocery bags, silhouetted in the gold of light pollution and streetlamps. That warm scent from before is stronger now, and grows stronger still when Shiro approaches. The man narrows his eyes and Shiro stops in his tracks. “Can I help you?”

                “I’m not…” Shiro begins, then stops short. Where does he even start explaining his situation? He thinks for a beat. “Okay, so. My name is Shiro,” he starts, trying to sound friendly and non-threatening. This is the first person who hasn’t been wary of him all day. “I’m lost and I’m trying to get in contact with some of my friends but…” The man’s eyes run up and down Shiro in a way that makes him feel vulnerable, but in the end, his expression softens.

                “You have an accent.”

                “I’m from New York.”

                “A tourist, then.”

                “Yes, and I’m not totally sure where I am right now and-“

                “You need my phone.”

                “ _Please._ I would appreciate it,” Shiro lifts his hands, pleading.

                “You lost your own?”

                “I’ve lost a lot of things.”  The man’s eyes narrow in on Shiro’s cybernetic hand and he has to shove back the urge to hide it. The man shifts his bags to his other hand and the crinkling plastic rings in his ears. He catches the dull scent of raw meat and his stomach growls as he watches the man pull out a set of keys from his pocket.

                “Hell of a hangover, huh?” he says. He turns and starts up the stairs, but stops when he sees Shiro wilting. He stops halfway up the first flight and looks down a Shiro. “I’m Keith, by the way. You can come in, if you don’t mind my apartment being kind of a mess. I mean, don’t take this the wrong way but… You look like you need some help.”

                “None taken,” Shiro says and follows him up to a third floor apartment.

                The apartment is small and well lived in, but it’s quick to see that Keith was mostly joking with his comment about his apartment being messy. It looks like a simple one-bedroom apartment, decorated mostly in browns and reds. A sliding glass door sits on the opposite wall to the front door, but all the balcony looks out on is the brick building next door. Shiro trails after him into the kitchen, taking in the bare counters and the peeling laminate on the floor. The warm scent is even stronger here. It must be Keith, he realizes. Keith sets his bags on the counter and sighs, thinking.

                “I was going to make dinner,” he says and turns, pressing the small of his back to the edge of the counter.

                “Do you want help?” Shiro asks. Keith wrinkles his nose and shakes his head.

                “Nope. My phone is in there on the coffee table,” Keith says. He points over the half wall that separates the kitchen and living area and Shiro follows it to a cordless phone sitting out of its cradle next to a stack of magazines. “Call whoever you need to.”

                Shiro thanks him and steps around the counter. He sits on the couch and thinks of his parent’s phone number. He can’t remember a lot of things, so thank God that was one of the details that remained.

                He sets the phone to his ear, heart racing. It rings, and rings, and keeps ringing. Shiro expects it to go to voicemail, but he doesn’t even get that. The line just beeps. Shiro frowns and tries again to the same effect. Okay, that’s worrying, so he tries the Holt’s number instead. Hopefully they got home okay.

                Again, he gets a busy signal. What’s going on? Shiro tries to call the Holt’s two more times and by the time he gives up he’s chewing nervously at his lip. Keith watches as he hangs up the phone and sets it back on the coffee table.

                “No luck?” he asks. The scent of browning hamburger and a hint of garlic fills the room. Shiro shakes his head as he watches Keith pull a box of spaghetti noodles down from the cupboard and put a thick handful in a pot of boiling water. Keith frowns. “Maybe it’s because it’s so late. You can try again the morning.” Shiro heaves a sigh and stares at the phone as if that will solve any of his problems.

                 “You wanna take a shower instead?” Keith asks after several long seconds. The thought of soaking in a warm shower breaks Shiro out of his reverie. Maybe Keith’s right and he’s just caught both families at a bad time. He’s felt grimy since he woke up in the alley and walking around in the Nevada heat all evening hasn’t helped him out much.

                 “God, yes, I would love one.” Keith turns down the heat on the stove, padding across the room and down a short hallway. Keith opens one of the two doors there and flicks on the light. “Toss your clothes out in the hall and I’ll wash ‘em for you.” Shiro goes as far as to step into the bathroom and look into the tiny shower before that catches up to him.

                “Uh, well,” he starts. Keith shrugs as if reading his mind.

                “I know. I don’t have anything for you to wear in the meantime but I have to have my big towels. The one on the shelf behind you is clean. It should be big enough in the meantime,” Keith smiles almost apologetically. “A shower’s not much good if you have to change right back into those gross clothes.” Shiro relaxes.

                “Thank you, Keith,” Shiro says. Keith only waves him off and goes back down the hall.

                “Dinner will probably be ready by the time you finish in there,” Keith says. Shiro’s stomach growls again as if responding for him as he closes the door and looks in the mirror. He gasps in shock.

                No wonder everyone has been so scared of him. There’s a long scar running across the bridge of his nose, smooth and pink. He thinks ‘When did that happen?’ to himself for probably the tenth time today. He leans over the sink peering into his reflection. It could be worse, he supposes, but he distinctly remembers himself looking a hell of a lot better coming into Las Vegas.

                He’s got a bright white tuft of hair too, right where he keeps it long. He pushes his hair back out of his face and it goes all the way down to the scalp. Shiro frowns deeply. This is new and worrying.

                “I wouldn’t suppose this is dyed, huh,” he tells himself, letting his hair fall forward naturally. He’s almost to the point of giving up on questioning where all these changes are coming from. Does he really want to remember how he lost his arm or how he got a nasty scar across his face? Shiro turns on the shower and shrugs off his shirt.

                “Oh, goddamn it. Really?” Shiro growls at himself. Not only does he have that terrible scar on his nose, his whole torso is littered with them. What the hell happened? Shiro feels his frustration rising because he can’t remember even the slightest bit how so many of these changes came about. Who did this to him? He looks at himself in the mirror, brow furrowed as he examines the scars lining his body. Some of them are impossible to tell the origin, but others are clear. Some are burns, some are punctures, there’s a set of what looks like an animal’s claws that track disturbingly across his belly.

                He looks at the dark blue towel folded up loosely on the shelf and seriously reconsiders handing over his clothes to Keith. He’s been so kind to him already. He hadn’t seemed bothered by the scar across his face but now Shiro starts to second guess himself, wondering if Keith was just being polite. Maybe these other scars would scare him. Shiro imagines the fear in Keith’s eyes as he looks at his body and yeah, it would be super awkward hanging around in nothing but a towel for the couple hours it would take to wash his clothes.

                “You okay? Give me your clothes. I want to take them down with the trash so I don’t have to climb fifty flights of stairs tonight.” Keith calls, and knocks lightly on the door, snapping Shiro out of his thoughts. Shiro frowns deeply and opens the door.

                “Wait- Oh, you’re not even undressed,” Keith says. Shiro feels like he’s burning when Keith’s eyes flicker down over his chest and back up to his face. He sees the scars, but the fear Shiro expects isn’t there. “Sorry, but get a move on, okay? My neighbor works overnight and he’s gonna be pissed if you use all the hot water.” Keith holds out his hand. Shiro closes the door most of the way, hiding behind it as he strips out of the rest of his clothes. There’s more scarring on his legs, though he thinks it’s not quite so much.

                “Sorry, I’ll try to be quick.” he says. He opens the door only enough to hand Keith his clothes. Keith only nods and moves on down the hall.

                Keith is setting out two plates of spaghetti when Shiro comes out of the shower, his hair slicked back from his face and his towel tucked tightly around his waist. Keith sits on the couch and motions to the other plate he’s set on the coffee table. Shiro settles next to him and Keith doesn’t even look twice at his bare skin or his scars. That somehow soothes his nerves and he picks up the plate.

                “Thank you for dinner and… well, for everything really,” Shiro says. His stomach feels like it’s gnawing on itself as he starts to eat. Keith picks at his food more slowly and shrugs off Shiro’s thanks.

                “It’s not putting me out any. You’re hardly stepping into what little routine I have,” Keith says. Shiro nods.

                “You live by yourself then?” he asks.

                “Yeah,” Keith starts. “I’m used to it, so it’s not so bad.”

                “You make it sound like you get lonely sometimes,” Shiro states. He can’t quite read the look Keith gives him.

                “I live by myself in the bad part of Vegas. I’m not a helpless pansy or anything,” Keith huffs and Shiro bites back a smile. “But sometimes it’s kind of stressful. At night.” Shiro nods, twirling his fork through the center of his noodles.

                “I’m glad you didn’t make me stay out there then,” He says. He takes one more bite, swallows it, and sets his mostly empty plate aside. “I don’t really know my way around.” Keith grins.

                “Clearly, otherwise you wouldn’t be out here at eleven at night,” he says. He pokes his fork around his plate, then holds it out to Shiro. “I’m full. You want the rest of this?” Shiro thinks that he might be lying, but he can’t find it in himself to pass up the offer. “You said you were from New York?” Shiro nods.

                “Rochester, so it’s not like I lived in the big, big city,” Shiro clarifies. “What about you?” Keith shrugs.

                “I moved around a lot as a kid. I just tell people I’m from here,” he frowns a little. “People seem to think it’s nice, but the strip doesn’t make up the whole city.”

                “I’m sorry,” he says, and then more lightly, “The strip is pretty nice though,” He finishes up Keith’s leftovers and sets it on the coffee table as well. He looks over the magazines on the coffee table. There’s one on hover bikes, but everything else is space related. Shiro ponders briefly over the odds of their interests aligning so tightly. Shiro wipes his hands on his napkin and starts to paw through them. Keith watches him for a second with muted curiosity before he gets up and clears away the dishes.

                “Look through those all you want but they’re pretty old,” Keith says. Shiro hums and fishes through the pile. One near the bottom of the stack catches his attention. He’d recognize the cover photo anywhere. It’s a picture of Proxima Centauri b, the same one that had had his office besides themselves in excitement when it came in.

                “They published these,” Shiro hums. He looks at the date. June 2093. Two months after Shiro first came to Las Vegas and played poker with Matt and Sam Holt. His heart starts to thud hard in his chest. How long had he been gone again? Keith turns off the sink where he was rinsing the dishes and peers at him over the half-wall, trying to see which magazine he had.

                “What is it?” he asks, narrowing his eyes when Shiro shows him the cover. “Oh yeah. I remember when that probe made it out last year.” Shiro’s eyes go wide.

                “Last _year!?_ ” Keith recoils. His eyebrows disappear behind his fringe in surprise. Shiro tosses the magazine down on the coffee table and stands so quickly it nearly pulls his towel loose. “What day is it?” Keith only stares at him in silence. When Shiro moves, pacing across the room, he flinches back, but then seems to catch himself and steady.  

                 “July 13, 2094,” Keith says. His eyes grow hard and Shiro can almost hear Keith daring him to come closer. So Shiro stops where he is in the middle of the living room, looking around the apartment as if he could find something to help him. Shiro starts to panic. No wonder no one had answered his calls! The might not even live in the same house! They probably thought him dead months ago!

                 “Oh my God,” Shiro breathes, his heart feels like it’s fighting its way up his throat. He shuffles nervously. What can he even _do_? He’s already been gone. Who knows where. Doing who knows what. Everyone else has already moved on. He feels like he’s woken up from a too realistic dream to find a bleak reality. But isn’t that exactly what happened? Keith relaxes, watching him with concern.

                 “Are you okay?” he asks. His voice is so soft Shiro hardly hears it. He opens his mouth but can’t find any words. He only shakes his head, blinking fast. Keith drums his fingers on the counter and, slowly, starts to make his way around it. He leads Shiro back to the couch and sits down with him. “What’s wrong?” Shiro shakes his head again and heaves a shuddering sigh.

                 “I don’t…” He hesitates. Keith is going to think he’s crazy, that he’s having a breakdown or that he’s too dangerous to keep in the house. He closes his eyes and presses the heels of his hands into them, taking deep breaths as he tries to regain his focus. The best way to explain all this to Keith is to start from the beginning.

                 “I was a member of the team that launched the Centauri VII probe,” Shiro starts. His hands drop and he picks up the magazine with the exoplanet on the cover. “I was in the office when this photo came in from the probe in April of 2093.” He shakes the magazine. “I came to Las Vegas with some of my coworkers to celebrate. We had been waiting years for this!” Keith is quiet for several seconds and slowly, a dawning realization crosses his face.

                 “You had to ask me what day it was,” he says.

                 “That’s the last thing I remember,” Shiro admits. Keith looks over him with a new focus now. His skin crawls as Keith takes in all his scars, his cybernetic hand, in a new light. Shiro knows he doesn’t have to explain to him that he didn’t have these things when he first entered the city. He smiles, but Shiro can tell immediately that he’s using it to try and put him at ease.

                 “A _hell_ of a hangover,” Keith sighs.

                 “Keith-” Keith reaches out and gently takes the magazine away from him. He drops it on the table and lays his own hand on Shiro’s prosthetic.

                 “I’m sorry,” Keith starts. He squeezes Shiro’s forearm and he realizes he can feel the pressure, but not the heat. “I know it’s a big deal but don’t panic on me.” Keith explains. Shiro shakes his head.

                 “I’ll leave as soon as I have my clothes-“

                 “You will not. Stay here,” Keith says. As if to prove his point, he vaults over the back of the couch and pads into the hallway. He comes back with a sheet, a pillow, and a thin blanket in his arms.

                 “It’s too much trouble, Keith. I should have told you earlier.” Keith narrows his eyes at him and shoos him off the couch, flicking the sheet out and draping it over the back of the couch, tucking the other ends under the cushions.

                 “Do you really think I didn’t know something weird was going on with you the second you showed up?” Keith huffs and shoots him a mildly irritated look over his shoulder. “You’ve got a look about you that screams ‘rugged lost soul’.” He throws down the pillow and blanket and Shiro has a bed for the night.

                 “It doesn’t bother you?” Shiro asks. Keith rolls his eyes.

                 “No? Shit happens. It’s not like any of us can help it and” he waves his hand around something vague “I don’t have anything better to do. Be good and get some sleep. I’m off tomorrow.” Keith motions to the made up couch and Shiro once again settles himself on it, showing that he can ‘be good’.

                 “What about you being off tomorrow?” Shiro pries. Keith is wandering towards the door and pulling on his shoes.

                 “You’re missing more than a year of memories, but you were still doing something right? We can go out and see if we can find something to jog your memories,” he explains. He opens the door. “I’m going downstairs for your clothes.”

* * *

 

                Something in the room is growling. Shiro screws his eyes shut tighter, takes a deep breath in and out to try and lull himself back to sleep.

                Something growls, low and threatening. Did Keith have a dog? Shiro thinks on it, but doesn’t remember seeing any sort of animal in the apartment. Maybe it’s something in the alley. But would he really hear it up in a third story apartment?

                Shiro turns his head and buries his face in the pillow. It smells, but not in a bad way. It’s that same warm scent that lingers around Keith. It smells like the whole apartment but concentrated in soft fabric. Shiro can’t keep himself from sniffing at it.

                Again, that growling. The sound is intermittent, but intense. It’s louder this time and now Shiro’s awake enough to pinpoint it as coming from the balcony. Shiro blinks up at the ceiling. Those shadows look weird, he thinks and then looks down to the open balcony door.

                Oh, he thinks sleepily, it’s Keith. Keith stands out on the balcony in his pajamas, holding onto the railing in a white knuckle grip. His shoulders tense and bunch and that low growl comes out of him again, louder than ever. Shiro keeps staring, putting together the weird details. Like the large, purple ears that sit atop Keith’s head. They’re trained forward, twitching around as Keith follows something down on the street below. His tail is bristled thick and arches up in a stiff curve from the waist of his pants to almost touching his spine between the shoulders.

                Shiro can’t even think of how to react. How should he react? Keith certainly didn’t look like that when he went to sleep. Keith snarls now, facing down the side of the building. He curls his lip back and Shiro sees he’s got long, sharp canines. Maybe he’s still dreaming.

                 “Keith?” Shiro calls. One of Keith’s ears swivels towards his voice and the growl cuts off. He snaps his head over and pins Shiro to the couch with bright yellow eyes.


	2. Stratosphere Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay~ I made it. I was worried I wasn't going to because of a catastrophic loss of internet. But here is it. Little bit more searching for clues, little bit of Shiro trying to figure out just what the hell happened to him. I've got something more action oriented next chapter. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read so far~

          No sooner than he can get a glimpse, Keith presses his ears flat against his head. His tail drops, makes a soft curl around his hip and both seem to melt away into his hair and clothes. Shiro’s mouth drops open. He can’t move from his spot. Keith blinks and the yellow irises are gone, replaced with the more familiar purple from before.

                Shiro’s mind runs a mile a minute, his mouth working around all the questions in his mind about what he’s just seen. Keith moves swiftly. He slides the balcony door behind him with a soft snap, locks it and moves across the room in a few smooth strides to double check the front door.

                “What,” Shiro finds it in himself to sit up and follow Keith across the room. Keith raises up on his toes and squints through the peep hole. “What’s wrong?” _What did I just see? Where did your tail go?_

“Nothing,” Keith says. Shiro can hear the bullshit in his voice and his brow furrows. Keith shifts, as if he’s trying to look further down the hallway, but soon gives up and retreats to the back door again. He fidgets with the thin curtain like he’s trying to cover up as much of the glass as he can.

                “Okay…” Shiro says. There’s no way he’s going back to sleep after that so he flicks the sheet off and sets his feet on the floor. “Why are we double checking the locks then?” _Why were you growling at someone off your balcony?_

“There’s a creepy guy hanging around in front of the building,” Keith says. He shrugs, his shoulders too tense, and moves on to the kitchen. Shiro watches Keith fill a small pan with water and set it on the stove. “You want some tea?” he asks. Shiro doesn’t have to see his hands to know they’re probably shaking. Shiro breathes deep and the warm scent of Keith that fills the room is tinged with something different. Something sharp that raises goosebumps on the back of his neck.

Keith is nervous. The smell sets him on edge. He stands and joins Keith in the small kitchen with the conscious effort of appearing calm. “What’s up with him? Do we need to call the police?” he asks. He thinks of the time he found a nervous stray mutt in college and keeps his voice low. Keith shakes his head quickly.

 “It’s just some guy. I see him around every once in a while, but I don’t know him,” Keith says. Shiro wonders if it has something to do with the tail he saw before. _Did I really see that? Was I dreaming?_

Keith looks at him when he doesn’t answer immediately. Big violet eyes _or yellow?_ staring into his own. Shiro can sense him prying. Like he’s double checking his work, then turns back to the cupboard to pull out a couple of mugs.

 “I don’t know where he comes from. He’s just some big dude who likes to skulk around in the alley sometimes. I thought at first he was homeless, but then I thought he was probably too well dressed for that.” Keith keeps looking at him, little glances as he sets a bag of tea in each mug. “So I don’t know. Maybe he’s a drug dealer or a pimp or something,” he huffs, his smile a little too tight to be truly genuine. His whole body is just a little stiff with the same tension that pulls at the air between them, makes Shiro have to fight not to wrinkle his nose against it. Shiro narrows his eyes and Keith finally gives in and turns away from him completely to give his attention to the stove.

 “If he is, he’s a pretty shitty one. I never see him do any deals, and he never has any girls with him.”

                “I think I heard something growling,” Shiro says. Keith’s shoulders go stiff. He snaps off the burner and pours them both a mug. He chews his lip and pulls out a spoon for each of them, along with a half bag of sugar from a cupboard.

                “Uh, well…” Keith starts. His voice catches, and he almost stutters. Shiro thinks he might hear Keith’s heart thudding in his chest; he definitely sees his pulse jumping in his throat. “It’s my neighbor’s dog. It’s some big mastiff or something that always knows when someone’s hanging around at night.”

                “Oh, I think it woke me up,” Shiro says. He’s starting to doubt himself about seeing Keith with ears and a tail. A werewolf, really? And purple no less. Whoever heard of a purple werewolf?

                Keith right now looks perfectly normal as he hands him a warm mug. Soft black hair and pretty dark eyes that don’t glow in the overhead light.

                “Sorry then,” Keith says. He spoons sugar into his mug. “I should have kept the door closed.” He pauses for a beat while he squishes his tea bag against the side of his cup. “I wouldn’t have even heard what was going on but I came in the check on you.” Shiro’s brow raise in surprise.

                “On me?”

                “Yeah, I mean, you didn’t wake me up or anything,” Keith shrugs. “I was up anyways, but I heard you talking to yourself. You looked like you were having a nightmare.” Goosebumps prickle up his arms. Shiro doesn’t really remember anything specific, but it makes sense. A sort of a waking nightmare thing, perhaps. Like the ears he saw on Keith were something of the dregs of his dreams. But that takes a backseat for now. Maybe his dreams hold something closer to his missing memories.

                “Did- Did I say anything?” Shiro asks. Keith frowns, thinking. His eyes wander down to Shiro’s prosthetic hand where it’s wrapped around his mug. That sharp scent from before starts to even off as they change the subject, but Shiro doesn’t feel much better, trapped somewhere between anxiety and hope.

                “Not really?” Shiro lets some of the air out of his body. Keith looks almost apologetic. “I’m sorry. Not anything specific. Just like… You sounded like you didn’t want to do something, but you never said what.” That doesn’t bring up any concrete images or thoughts but he’s not surprised either. He can’t imagine he’d voluntarily sign up for something that would leave him with a fake arm and covered in scars.

                “That’s alright,” Shiro sighs. He takes a sip of his tea. It’s almost too strong from the time it’s had to steep but it serves to wake him up nicely. “I can’t really expect a huge breakthrough on the first day, right?” Keith’s eyes soften around the corners.

                “Yeah…” Keith says. “We’ll go out once it gets a little lighter. It’s…” he looks at the clock on the stove. It reads 1:35 but Keith stares for a few seconds, thinking. “It’s nearly five. So you can get some more sleep if you want.” Shiro shakes his head.

                “I’m up now,” he says. He motions with his tea. “Caffeine really does it for me.” Keith smiles.

                “Not me. Probably ‘cause I drink it all the time,” as if to make his point, he drains the last third of his cup and pours himself more water. “You’re probably some kind of health nut, considering how you’re built.”

                “I wouldn’t call five miles in the morning _that_ crazy,” Shiro says teasing. Keith shakes his head.

                “Well, run all you want later on, but I’m not keeping up with that.”

                “So, before we just start wondering around aimlessly, you got any hints for us at all?” Keith calls down from the head of the stairs. He’s changed into a pair of tight fitting jeans and a black t-shirt. He turns a thin red jacket over in his hands and, deciding against it, tosses it back into the apartment through the open door and locks it behind him. Shiro kind of wishes he could do that with the flannel he’s wearing. July in Vegas is about as hot as he could have expected, bright but nonetheless oppressive even at seven in the morning, so he lingers around in the shade of the stairwell as long as he can. He almost rolls his sleeves back but… He flexes his prosthetic hand. He doesn’t need to draw attention to himself. This thing will definitely draw stares.

                “Keith? Do you think my arm will get too hot in the sun?” he asks. Keith looks at his prosthetic and gives him a pitying stare.

                “You’re gonna fucking bake, dude. Maybe we can stop by a thrift store or something while we’re out.” He waves it off and steps into the sun, so bright it makes a little halo around him where it reflects off his hair and clothes. “Do you remember anything at all?” Shiro nods and follows him out into the sun. He feels it even through his shirt and he starts to sweat almost immediately.

                “I came out here with a couple of co-workers. Matt and Sam Holt,” he recounts all the little details he can remember. “Came out here on a Thursday night. We were going to stay until Sunday afternoon and then fly back to New York. So we came out here no problem. First night, we went to a casino but…I can’t remember which one. I remember playing some poker but then I must have gotten really, really drunk.”

                “That’s all? The next thing you know you’re waking up yesterday?” Keith presses. Shiro nods and touches the scar on his nose.

                “With all sorts of surprises too. I do remember one thing, though I don’t think it’s super important. One of the security guys was probably over six and half feet,” Shiro says. “I couldn’t stop looking at him. He could hardly get in through the doors.”

                “Woah,” Keith breathes. “Seriously huge. No surprise he works security. That’s a good start though. Taxi’s don’t really come up this way, but it’s only three or four miles to the strip from here. We can peek into the casinos down there and see if we recognize that security guard.”

                By the time they really start getting into the crowds along the strip, Shiro is sweltering in his flannel and heavy jeans. Sweat runs down his spine and leaves his hair damp. He really wishes he had asked if Keith had any spare deodorant before they set out this morning.

                The strip doesn’t look quite the same in the morning than he remembers when he was here with the Holts at night. The lights don’t show up the same way with the sunlight bleaching them out. He has to squint against the glare of light off of bright white concrete. It seems to reflect heat back onto them. The highway is five lanes besides them and even just shy of mid-morning the traffic is growing heavy. Cars of all shapes and colors glide past them. Tires grind on the asphalt, kicking up the scent of dripped oil, hot road top and gas fumes. Car horns blare down the street, people chatter and scream around them, so many people so close to them.

                “The Stratosphere Tower’s the closest casino, but there’s a bigger bunch of them down the-“ Keith cuts off his little speech when Shiro presses the heels of his hands over his eyes. The metal of his prosthetic is hot, smelling of baking metal and rubber. That only makes the headache building in his skull worse. Keith blinks and gently takes him by the arm to lead him across the wide sidewalk and into the shade. “You alright?” he asks quietly.

                “Yeah,” Shiro says. He kneads at the back of his neck with his human hand as if he could massage some of the discomfort away. “It’s just ah… I think I’m still kinda whacked out from before.” Keith nods like he understands immediately.

                “You get used to it eventually. The lights and sounds and stuff. It still keeps me up at night sometimes. When people can’t shut up or someone tosses out bad trash or something,” Keith says. Shiro groans and wipes some of the sweat off his face with the already damp collar of his shirt before he starts fanning himself.

                “I feel like I’m at my third day of a music festival.”

                “Vegas is a busy place. Most of the people here are just wanting to let loose and have fun,” Keith says. His eyes wonder lower and Shiro realizes what he’s doing and drops his shirt.

                “Sorry.”

                “You’re sweating buckets. Let’s find a place to get some water. This heat and that stupid shirt are probably only making your headache worse.”

                They find a Circle K not too far down the street. Shiro can smell the sharp tang of gasoline almost as soon as it comes into sight and by the time they’re walking in the shade of the metal awning covering the pumps it’s nearly overwhelming. His head pounds and the air seems to shimmer with the fumes and heat of sunlight.

                “Thank Christ for AC,” Keith purrs as he holds open the door for Shiro. The light in here isn’t much better, but the smell of watered down bleach and the faint tang of tobacco is better than diesel. Keith goes on to the back of the store and the drink coolers but the kid behind the counter shoots Shiro a huge grin.

                “Pretty gnarly,” the clerk says. Shiro stops, confused, and the guy touches the bridge of his nose. “Big guy like you, it must have been a hell of a fight, huh?” Oh. He’d totally forgotten about his facial scar. Suddenly he’s self-conscious of it; Keith had hardly noted it, or his scars, or his missing arm. But now he’s reminded the public is just as observant, though not as tactful.

                “So where’d you get that thing?” Shiro just shakes his head. He doesn’t know. He just woke up with it and he’s not even begun to figure it out yet. The clerk wilts a little. “C’mon, it’s not a secret is it?” Shiro opens his mouth, closes it again.

                “Ah, it’s just from an accident. It’s uhm…fuzzy,” Shiro turns and retreats to the back of the store where Keith is cradling two bottles of water and a pack of Skittles. Keith shakes it at him, a mess of crinkling wrapping.

                “You want something? My treat.” Shiro shakes his head.

                “You okay? I heard the kid talking up there,” Keith wrinkles his nose and Shiro can’t help but think of a disgruntled dog. “Was he giving you shit?” Again, Shiro shakes his head.

                “No, I’m fine. He just asked about my face,” Shiro admits. Keith leans to look past Shiro and gives the clerk a short, sharp look. “It’s okay. He doesn’t know any better.”

                “Still, shouldn’t just _ask_ like that. It’s not his business,” Keith says. He doesn’t look entirely convinced by Shiro’s placating.

                “Do you want to ask?” Shiro says. Keith had just taken him in him on what Shiro can only assume is a whim. He has little doubt Keith isn’t just as curious as the guy working the register right now. Keith pouts a little.

                “Not really. Well, not anymore,” Keith admits. “It’s not like you can tell me anyways, but now I kinda feel responsible for you. After doing your laundry and all.” Keith gives him a flat look, sniffing. “I might have to do it again when we get back.”

                The bell over the front door rings. The clerk greets the newcomer with the same awe he had given Shiro.

                “Woah, dude! How tall _are_ you?” Keith looks over Shiro’s shoulder again and his eyes go wide. He grabs at Shiro’s shirt, turning him around to face the front of his store.

                “Is that our guy? He has to be close to seven feet.”

                Shiro hardly hears Keith’s question. As soon as his eyes lock on to the tall man at the counter, the world shrinks in around him. Tall. Impossibly tall, hulking taller than the doorframe. He’s broad shouldered and his deep red shirt pulls tight over the muscles in his back. Same red shirt prowling around between the tables. Same thick, black hair brushed back out of his face. Shiro remembers the guy running his fingers through his hair when he leaned down to murmur something in the dealer’s ear. The man turns and their eyes meet across the store. Same yellow eyes. Same yellow eyes looking at him over the poker table. Same yellow eyes he imagined on Keith late last night.

                Shiro gasps, his heart shoving up in his throat. It’s strangling him. That man is strangling him with only a hard, unnatural stare. Shiro groans and the world fades to black.


	3. Mandalay Bay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't like how last weeks chapter panned out but definitely, this is where things start picking up rather quickly. That said, thank you so much to everyone who's been so patient for weekly updates and kept up with me so far~
> 
> So, after working and reworking how I wanted to handle some of the things going on in the next few chapters I finally decided to just scrap a big piece out of the middle of this bit that felt forced/redundant and then cut this chapter basically in half. This is why it's a little short. I don't now what counts as a spoiler or even if anyone cares if I spoil what I have planned for this, but y'all get to see some more action next week, I promise! I haven't written a hard action scene in a long minute so I wanna make it good. 
> 
> Quick note: Italics denote a flashback.

_"Do you think he can be of use?" The voice is deep, muffled on the other side of the door. Shiro's head throbs, his vision looping round and round, fuzzing out the scant purple light coming under the door. It's the tall man speaking. The security guard skulking around the casino floor, keeping an eye out on the crowds. Now Shiro is sure he was listening in on tourists' conversations. With effort, Shiro rolls onto his back and stares unblinking at the dark ceiling._

_"Interrogate him, for now," someone else replies. This voice is not as deep, sounds like it might belong to someone a bit older. "The other two are already talking, and they seem quick, and willing enough. They might be all we need for now." A low, gruff sound of irritation from the other._

_"Why not the three, then, if they're all specialists? The old witch only has to point, and I can get another for her to play with. What's the point in sacrificing a scientist to her schemes?" That doesn't bode well. Shiro breaks out in a cold sweat listening to the conversation drag on. He should have kept his mouth shut. He doesn't understand why, but he knows it deep in his bones that he should have kept his mouth shut. He should have kept the research on Proxima Centauri under wraps. Should have tried to get Matt and Sam to do the same. Where are they?_

_The conversation is too vague to make out anything concrete no matter how he strains to pick up every word and nuance of voice. The older one shifts and the light under the door ripples around the room with his irritable movements._

_"Three at once is already too many, Sendak! And two of them family besides? Do you think this will go unnoticed? I'm already having to clean up this mess for you! Do you seriously think this is going unnotic-" The older one is cut off with a vicious snarl and a smack that shudders the door to Shiro's cell. Shiro flinches but doesn't move. Better not to let them know he's awake until he can gain everything he can from this conversation and form a plan._

_"Thace, have you gotten promoted lately?" the guard, Sendak, asks. Something's wrong with that speech now, slightly slurred and animalistic. It feels like all the blood in Shiro's chest freezes into a solid block of ice. The one who must be Thace shuffles against the door, groaning in pain. The other isn’t swayed. "Well?"_

_"No..."_

_"Then shut your mouth and go back to the desert you came from, you hairy leech. If, and only if, someone comes around asking for them, then we will take care of it. You have so little faith in us! How long have we been working on this? Why do we stay in such a gaudy city? Because it’s easy to make things disappear. Humans have pitiful wills. They'll give up on these three quickly." Sendak says. Thace wheezes and there's a sound much like dog's claws tapping on a tile floor._

_"There's no sense in it..." he presses. Sendak scoffs and more shuffling as Thace moves to the far side of the hall. Sendak scratches around the handle of the door._

_"If Haggar wants this one, then she can come and take him," Sendak says. The door slides back into the wall. Shiro flinches back before he remembers to feign sleep. Sendak steps in and kneels beside him, blocking out all the light. His eyes glow bright like a cat's at night, eerie, mesmerizing. Sendak grins, flashing two sets a long, sharp canines._

_"You're awake? Good. Let's get started then."_

 

                "Dude, is he okay?"

                "Yes, yes, he's fine, please-"

                "Is that a seizure or something? Oh my God-"

                "It's not- Please! Don't, he's okay he just-"

                "Ambulance?"

                "No! He's fine, dammit!"

                "What should I do?"

                "Nothing! He's oka-"

                "Water. I'll get some water-"

                "O-okay, cool. That-that's fine."

                Sneakers scuff of around the side of the building and the bell over the door rings in Shiro's head over and over. He moans, hauling in great, shuddering gasps of air. He feels like he's crossed the finish line of a marathon only to be run down by a truck. His prosthetic hand is clawed into the front of his shirt. The other, he's not sure. Keith presses hot and suffocating against his side, arms wrapped around his shoulders and smelling of sweat and anxiety. There's his other hand. It's gripping Keith's thigh just above the knee so hard the inside seam digs painfully into tightly locked knuckles.

                He's hurting him. He knows he is because he's gripping Keith so hard it hurts himself. Keith doesn't show it. He's not pulling away and complaining that Shiro's been bruising up his thigh for who knows how long. Shiro fights against himself to let go, to let out all the tension in his body and fails miserably.

                "Shh..." Keith loosens his grip on him and brushes his hand back and forth across the backs of his shoulders. "It's alright. You're alright." He brings his hand up, cups the back of Shiro's head and gently tucks Shiro under his chin.

                Keith moves him when he can't manage it himself. Keith's got him, Shiro thinks, and he listens to Keith's slow, steady breathing over his head. Shiro squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the soft inhale, the louder exhale, the soft scratch of blunt nails through his hair as Keith pets him.

                The kid, Shiro recognizes the voice from earlier as the young clerk inside the gas station, comes back and shuffles around all nervous and energetic. Keith shifts and reaches. Fat, cold drops of water splash on the back of his neck and roll down into the collar of his shirt. Shiro shivers, but ignores it in favor of keeping all his focus on Keith's steady breaths, trying to match them with his own.

                "So..." the kid starts. Keith sighs, sets the bottle down beside himself.

                "How much?" he asks.

                "What? No, it's on the house. That dude's got a problem. Don't worry about it." Keith makes a soft, irritated sound in the back of his throat.

                "He's coming around. Thank you, but you don't have to worry about him. Really. We'll head out in a minute. There's not really anything to do but wait." Shiro matches Keith's inhale and holds it, holds it until the kid hurries off back into the store and all that's left is the high smell of fuel and the hiss of cars passing by on the highway. He holds it until he loses himself a little in his surroundings and, when he starts to grow lightheaded, he lets it out all at once.

                Keith stiffens and stops petting him so intently, his hand just resting on the back of his neck. Slowly, Shiro lets the tension seep out of him. He releases Keith's leg, his fingers sore and creaking. Keith moves back and lets Shiro sit up.

                "Are you okay?" Keith asks. His hand falls further down Shiro's back and rubs soothing circles between his shoulder blades. Shiro nods, panting, and scrubs his face between his hands.

                Keith snaps open the cap of the water bottle and nudges it up under Shiro's nose. The smell of cold water drowns out the other sharp scents around him and Shiro takes it, downing half of it in one go.

                "I'm sorry," Shiro sighs. Keith shakes his head and goes back to stroking Shiro's back, gently tugging the flannel away from his sweaty skin. "I-I don't know what happened."

                "You had a panic attack," Keith says. "As soon as that guy turned and looked at you, you totally zoned out. Started breathing real fast and everything. Like the shit you see in the movies. I almost had to fight you to get you out here."

                Shiro doesn't remember any of that. He doesn't remember struggling against Keith. Not coming outside. Not freaking the clerk out. Not clinging to Keith so hard and leaving bruises and filling him with worry. The only thing he knows is that he saw Sendak. He'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Yellow, bright yellow. Unnatural and sickening. Shiro shudders at the memory.

                "Well, I'm happy to put on such a good performance," Shiro teases. He's trying to break the tension in the air but Keith looks a little hurt.

                "You really scared me." Shiro sobers, takes another draw of water.

                "I'm sorry. I shouldn't joke." Keith takes a deep breath and licks his lips nervously. "Did he leave?" Shiro asks quietly.

                "Yeah, yeah. He left pretty quick. I didn't see where he went though," Keith says. He doesn't have to ask to put two and two together. The guy they saw in the store is definitely the security Shiro remembers from the night he disappeared.

                "His name's Sendak," Shiro says. The name feels nasty on his tongue. He thinks about that dark room, Sendak looming over him and flashing sharp teeth. Strange, Sendak brings up images of great, hulking monsters in his mind but he knows it can't be true. He doesn't know where he's getting all these invasive thoughts of yellow eyes and thick, purple fur.

                "That's a weird name," Keith says. He brings his knees up and wraps his arms around them as if he's unsure about asking more. "You...you remember anything else?"

                Black. A tall, black building lit through with deep purple lights. Always purple. That's all it was on the outside and in the back halls. The main casino, when he thinks hard, was a bit different. A little brighter, a little more inviting. Shot through with reds and oranges. Enough that he didn't think too much of it when he was enjoying himself.

                "A lot of purple. I think the casino we went to was kinda...sleek looking? It's..." Shiro pauses, thinking hard, but when he tries to bring up more details it makes his head throb. "I don't know where it's at." Keith huffs and shifts again, resting his chin in his hand and Shiro thinks he looks almost petulant about it.

                "It's down on the south side of the strip. By Mandalay Bay," Keith says. Shiro gapes at him.

                "You do? What's it called?" Keith's nose wrinkles.

                "Empire." Suddenly, he drops his hand and stares at Shiro hard. "I can't take you there." Shiro nearly drops the last of his water.

                "What are you talking about? Why?" he asks. Keith's willingness seems to visibly bleed out of him as they stare at each other. "What's wrong?" Shiro asks again. Keith gives in first and drops his eyes to his shoes.

                "I don't… I don't get along with the kind of people who work there," he says.

                "Keith. Have you been here the last what, fifteen minutes? Neither do I!" That presses Keith the wrong way. Shiro sees it immediately in the tension in his shoulders. Keith sneers and Shiro thinks he sees a flash of a double set of canines.

                "You shouldn't go back there either, Shiro," Keith growls. He seems to stop himself, forces a deep breath and comes back marginally calmer. "That's where your memories stop, right? That means something." Shiro realizes it just as surely as if Keith had slapped him in the face.

                "What do you know," Shiro asks, threatening. Keith fidgets. Shiro backs off a little. There’s no sense in aggression right now. He tries again, pleading. "If you know something about that then you need to tell me. I don't know _anything_. I need your help."

                Keith weighs the options in his mind. Shiro can nearly see the scales tipping back and forth behind his eyes, and Shiro worries what he's so scared of.

                "You'll be okay?" Keith asks finally. Shiro nods without even thinking about it. He'll make himself okay to know what Keith is hiding.

                "Sendak was the guy hanging around in front of my apartment last night. He knows where I live, and now he knows that you're with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone at all surprised to see Sendak lurking around? 
> 
> I'm never, ever writing amnesia again. Much less trying to juggle some romance into it. Shit, I'm not qualified. Shiro's got like three for four dots gathered up now and he just hasn't quiiiite put them together. I'm so happy I'm getting over this big ol hump of exposition. 
> 
> As always I love to hear from you guys. I love to talk about Voltron~ Thank you all for reading this!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading~ Please leave a comment if you want cause I wanna talk about Voltron and writing in general basically 100% of the time.


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